


who is the lamb (who is the knife)

by illumynare



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, did i mention i live in the garbage bin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 15:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11316684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illumynare/pseuds/illumynare
Summary: This is Eris Morn: every time, she says, "I will."(or: the Eris/Toland arranged marriage AU)





	who is the lamb (who is the knife)

This is Eris Morn: every time, she says, "I will."

* * *

She is a newly-Risen Guardian when the call goes out for volunteers to join the host, to fight at the Mare Imbrium and retake the Moon.

Eris barely understands the Light, but she knows it has her loyalty. She knows it needs protecting.

At the Mare Imbrium, she starts to understand the Dark.

* * *

Eriana-3 asks her if she will help seek vengeance.

Eris did not know Wei Ning. Did not know any of the thousands slaughtered at the Mare Imbrium.

But she knows Crota. She saw his sword, his power, his darkness.

And she knows Eriana. Loves her, as she loves the LIght.

So she says yes.

* * *

They are infinitely deep below the surface of the Moon. Vell and Omar and Sai are all dead. Toland is—unknown, lost in the echoes of Ir Yût's song.

When Eriana asks her if she will take the sword, use Hunter stealth to kill the son of Oryx while Eriana uses Warlock strength to make him kneel, Eris says, "Yes."

* * *

"Ikora," says Zavala, eyebrows drawn together, "are you sure this isn't some sort of . . . Hive mockery?"

"I don't think the Hive have a sense of humor," says Cayde. "I was on the Moon a week ago, and there was this Wizard—I had the _best_ pun, but all she said was—"

"Enough, Cayde," says Ikora. Her face is composed, distant. "Savathûn's emissary says they consider marriage an . . . appropriate metaphor."

 _For the sword logic._ Ikora does not say the words; nobody else in the room would understand them but Eris, who stands at the edge of the room, hands clasped over wrists, heart fluttering against her ribs. 

While Eriana joined the Thanatonauts, seeking an echo of Wei Ning—while the rest of the City rejoiced in Crota's death—Eris and Ikora had poured over the scraps of Toland's notes. They had sought knowledge and preparation. They had found nothing but rumors.

Now those rumors are come to life with Oryx and Savathûn. The terrifying Taken King who has broken the power of the Awoken, infected the whole system, and threatens to overwhelm them completely. And his equally dark sister, who wants him dead and will assist the Vanguard in accomplishing it. 

For a price.

Of all their fireteam, Eris and Eriana were the only ones to return from the Pit. It was a cruel and bitter fate, yet Eris had always suspected there would be more to pay.

She hadn't expected _this_.

"I don't know," says Cayde. "Metaphors are pretty funny—"

"We can't sacrifice one of our Guardians this way," says Zavala, his voice solid and determined as the walls.

"We can't _order_ it," says Ikora, grim with knowledge of their doom. "But if she volunteers—"

There's a crash from outside, and then Eriana storms into Underwatch, fire crackling at her shoulders and her fingertips. She's tall and bright as she was at the Mare Imbrium, as she was facing Crota in the Pit, and for a moment Eris drinks in the sight.

"You cannot allow this," says Eriana, and though she is not in Radiance yet, she is a pillar of Solar light. "Eris belongs to the Light—I _will not let you—"_

Ikora meets her gaze, chin high, all the chill majesty of the Void in her eyes. "We have given her no orders."

"You have asked," says Eriana.

They have not done even that. They have only told Eris what danger threatens all the Guardians. And in that moment, when she knows that Eriana will mourn and rage for her, Eris at last is sure.

"I will do it," she says, moving from her silent place in the room's shadows. "I will marry Savathûn's emissary." 

* * *

Cayde is not so foolish as he pretends, nor quite so useless. He finds Eris that evening.

"Y'know," he says, leaning against the doorway, "there's ways to get you out of this."

Eris considers him, the light in his eyes, the sunset gleam reflected off his carapace. He means it. He would do it for her, though they have never been friends, and she values that.

Cayde understands what she does: the strength of the wolf is in the pack.

And that's why she must do this.

"Wish me joy," she says.

* * *

If the Hive have marriage rites, they have not shared them.

Guardians, as a whole, do not either. They are raised from a thousand different years, their minds and hearts molded to a thousand different customs. Those few of them who do marry, make their own ceremonies, or adopt one from the hundred cultures living in the City.

For Eris, Eriana researches. She learns everything that Eris and Ikora know of the sword logic. She compares human rituals, and guesses at what period Eris might have been born in. She considers, of all the customs Guardians have used, which ones might be most appropriate. She writes the ceremony they will use.

(She whispers to Eris, late at night, "You can kill him if he displeases," and Eris tells her not to include that disclaimer in the wedding vows.)

On the day they have agreed, the sky boils with darkness. The Tower is cleared of civilians, and most Guardians.

Savathûn does not directly enter their territory. She is too dread for their geometry. But her emissary comes, a horned creature veiled in shadow, with three bright eyes gleaming from his personal darkness.

Eris feels as tiny and alone as when she first saw Crota. But Savathûn's emissary is nothing beside the Son of Oryx; and this time, she has a hope to save her fellow Guardians.

She holds out her hand.

He takes it. Dry, cold fingers wrap over hers. She shivers, but the touch is not unpleasant.

Ikora stands between them, the power of the Void in her shadow, the Solar fire kindled in her palms, and she says, "Do you, creature of Savathûn, take this child of the Traveler to wife, against the Darkness, against the Light, against all terror and all time?"

"I do," says the emissary, his voice dry and rough, and a shiver runs down Eris's spine.

"Do you, Eris—" asks Ikora, and Eris does not hear the rest of the words. She is hearing her own heartbeat, the pulse of her blood; she is remembering when she crouched in the shadows of the Oversoul Throne, letting Hunter stealth slick over her bones, and she raised a sword of Darkness to strike a blow for the Light.

"I will," she says.

There are three cups of wine that each of them drink. There are three drops of blood that each of them shed. And there are three circuits they walk, hand in hand, around a fire.

There are three doors that close behind them, and then they are alone together: Eris, and her new-wedded husband.

"What are you?" she asks him finally.

"Are you so very dull?" he asks, his three eyes gleaming from the shadow of his face.

And finally, she knows him.

* * *

There was a time that Toland said to her, _You don't understand the Dark, LOOK UP AT THE SKY—_

There was a time that Eris said to him, _You don't understand the Light, LOOK DOWN AT THE DEEP—_

They both found proofs, after. They both became everlastingly sure of their allegiances.

Before the Pit, they could argue and love each other still. After, they could only regret.

Now they are met together under one roof, one alliance.

Slowly, gently, Eris traces her fingers across his face. Pulls back the gauze that wraps his scars. Sees the three eyes glowing green, and the oozing seam where Hive chitin meets once-human skin.

"What did Ir Yût do to you?" she asks.

"She harmonized me," says Toland. "Retuned me. Honed me, for the whetstone of Savathûn." His fingertips tickle at Eris's chin. "And you, what sharpness have you found?"

The only answer Eris can make is a kiss against his lips, is fingernails dragged down the side of his face, drawing liquid shadow where (from a human) she might have drawn blood.

"Understand," she tells him, as she bites his skin, as she claims him, "before you are Ir Yût's, before you are Savathûn's, you are mine."

Toland kisses her collarbone and says, "Only if you kill Oryx, dearest."

* * *

"We are going to land a Guardian on the Dreadnaught," Eris says to Ikora and Cayde the next day.


End file.
